


You Need to Just Do Whatever You Want

by countingcr0ws



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Inheritance, Cultural Differences, Cupids, Desire, Epistolary, Fluff, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Romance, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Under the Influence of Love, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingcr0ws/pseuds/countingcr0ws
Summary: Draco's confused when he receives a manual explaining his magical inheritance.Being a veela would be good (at least he would be prettier), and a vampire would have been fine (another excuse to hide himself in the Manor). But a descendant of the God of Love, complete with arrows and a love quota? Now that's just bonkers.A story in which Draco is Cupid (sort of).
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 27
Kudos: 153
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	You Need to Just Do Whatever You Want

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[196](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#).  
> Draco has come into his "creature" inheritance— and he's neither Veela nor werewolf. Instead, he's somehow descended from Cupid, And it turns out that no one's immune to Cupid's arrows, least of all himself (yup, he scratches himself with the tip of one, and yup, his eyes fall immediately on Harry). 
> 
> I hope that I did your prompt justice! 
> 
> Betaed by Han [(crimsonheadache)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonheadache).

The manual printed on unnaturally white paper appeared beside his pillow in the eighth year dormitory on an unusually cold morning. Set atop it was a hemp bag that clinked brightly when Draco jostled it. 

There was only one person who would leave him gifts in the middle of the night—“Pepper?" he whispered, clenching his fist when the house-elf didn’t appear. It had been wishful thinking in the first place, he inhaled shakily, trying not to think about the dirt framing her face when he had buried her.

The not-too-distant past would creep up on him often and catch him unaware, but he had to continue with his day as his mind healer had advised. _The sadness would pass._

Draco bit the inside of his cheeks, casting a series of detection charms on the items. He eyed them curiously, wondering where they had come from when the items came up clean. His wards had been honed through war, and nobody should have been able to get past his curtains. 

Picking up the booklet in search of an explanation, Draco paused at the title—"Love and Desire: The Cupid Manual". 

He traced the familiar print of François Gérard's painting of "Cupid and Psyche" on its cover, marvelling at how smooth the paper felt. Was this Muggle paper? He wondered if Harry would know—the slight amusement evaporated when he flipped open the flimsy pieces of paper and read the short introduction. 

Speeding through the pages, he tugged the drawstring bag open and poured out its contents, shoulders slumping at the tiny gold, and lead arrows. 

Regardless of how shoddy the ‘manual’ was, the arrows proved that it wasn’t a prank. The power in them was palpable, and it even shone against his purple bed sheets. When he picked it up, his arm broke out in a trail of goosebumps as the magic reverberated throughout his body. 

Growing up, the tome of Roman classics had been one of his favourite books in the Manor Library and he remembered the story of Cupid and Psyche in the second half of the book. These were surely reminiscent of Cupid's arrows. He knew that the truth was often concealed in stories, events before a writing system passed down through narration, picking up embellishments as it transmitted from one generation to another. After all, didn’t the Muggles think that Merlin was a myth? However, for _Gods_ to be a reality, surely that was too much? But the arrows were humming against his skin, eager to please, desperate to be used. 

Draco’s stomach clenched at the power in his hands. If the war had taught him anything, it was that as the line of Malfoys before him, he could not be trusted with power. His greed was too much. His hands were shaking as he swept the arrows into the bag, pausing when he noticed its stiffness. 

Peeking into the pouch, he pulled the piece of parchment out, feeling faint when he reached the end of the note. 

* * *

_**Piece of parchment in a hemp bag under Draco Malfoy’s pillow, Eighth Year students dormitory, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** _

**5 November 1998**

Dear Draco,

It is with great apologies that your duties have reached you so late. You should have come to your inheritance upon your age of maturity, but we didn’t think that the past one and a half years was a good time for you.

Nonetheless, everything’s good now. You’ve been cleared, and the manual will help.

Remember to fulfill your quota in December!

God of Love - Cupid Branch 

* * *

Draco paused when he felt the burn in his pocket, cursing under his breath as the ink dripped onto his parchment. Waving it away before it spread further, he glanced up to check that he hadn’t disrupted Hermione’s concentration. Homework had been piling up, and with the teachers’ self-guided learning initiative for the eighth years, the number of group projects he had was ridiculous. 

To top it all off, he had Hermione Granger as his partner for Arithmancy and Potions, which meant even more work and ridiculously in-depth research. Even Theo had never challenged him as much in their seven years of schooling together.

“Getting more books,” he said quietly, long familiar with the way Hermione waved him away without looking up. Walking towards the stacks, he checked to make sure the coast was clear before pulling out the message box from his fifth cousin once removed in China. 

After he had supposedly come into his inheritance, he had wondered about his family's coincidental possession of the famous painting about Cupid. Was it a vanity acquisition of his ancestor to boast about their descent, or was it a coincidence? 

He had written to his mother asking about the origins of the painting in the Manor, and he had been ashamed about the disappointment when he learned that it had been a Black heirloom. Malfoys had always been unashamedly blatant about their supposed superiority. In contrast, the Blacks had been more discrete, and he had initially believed that he had found a potentially tangible reason for how proud they were of their genealogy—because the Malfoys had supposedly descended from a God, but alas, both sides of his family were simply just horrible people.

The Blacks probably hadn’t been called upon by the Cupid Branch much, judging from the painting that had been so easily let out from the family. Did it mean that he was marginally better than his ancestors? The bar wasn’t too high though, and dwelling on it was pointless, he decided as he sent out his deliberately vague letters to the branch of Blacks dispersed throughout China, craving for guidance while careful to not reveal too much. 

He had set aside concerns about his image, writing about coming of age duties and the stress, before requesting for wisdom and a pillar of support. Seven out of fifteen of them had gone unanswered, six had returned with unrelated advice, of which five of those had invited his family to visit during Lunar New Year. The last two letters had been carefully probing and equally vague, and Draco had been so happy for a whole week, that Pansy had refused to sit with him. 

The arduous owl deliveries had been replaced by a glossy, carved wooden box to hold messages, and his mentors had whittled down to one. The exchange with his fifth cousin once removed had given him more information to understand the existence of gods, and an avenue for questions regarding their inheritance. 

Unfolding the papers from the box, he translated his distant aunt’s matchmaking reports with a quick spell before skimming through them. He had come to see his inheritance as an honor, but with the passing of the first week of December, the pressure to fulfill his monthly matchmaking quota (beginning with one in his first calendar month) loomed over him heavily. 

Draco jumped when he heard a peal of laughter followed by a thump a few rows away. Aware of how suspicious he looked, he returned the notes into the box. _A descendant of the only real God or otherwise, he still needed to ace his NEWTs._

Slipping the box back into his pocket, Draco picked a book tangentially relevant to their research before returning to Hermione. He paused at the sight of Pansy perched on their table. 

Pansy was leaning over Hermione while Hermione's neck craned back to look at her. Draco was confused by the sight before him—Hermione had set her quill aside in favor of the interaction, and she didn’t seem put out on having her concentration broken, or affected by Pansy's smirk.

"Pansy—" he called out as he walked towards the table. Pansy and Hermione sprang apart. 

"Sorry, I was gone for a bit. Do you need anything?" 

Pansy shrugged coolly. "Nothing. I was just passing by when I saw Granger by her lonesome. I was keeping her company until you returned." 

Draco narrowed his eyes at her as he set the book down. He tried to convey that she shouldn't mess around with the Golden Trio, frustrated when Pansy only tilted her head as she continued to smile lazily at him. 

"I appreciate your kindness," Draco said stiffly with clear dismissal. 

"No worries, Draco," Pansy said sweetly, her hand extending awkwardly, hanging in the air before she retracted it and waved at them. 

"Think about Hogsmeade, alright? You could save me from a full day of Draco's overbearing presence," she said, addressing the second half of her comment towards Draco, who only glared at her. 

Pansy left before any of them could reply. Draco watched Hermione look at Pansy's retreating figure. "You don't have to respond to her. Pansy gets these ideas sometimes and no one can stop her. Ignore her if she pesters you."

"It's fine," Hermione said as she returned to her notes. Her face was impossible to read.

Draco nodded as silence returned between them.

"It's not too bad though," Hermione suddenly said quietly. 

Draco looked up from his page to meet her eyes. Surprised by the seriousness that he saw, he nodded in agreement in place of anything better. 

* * *

_**Piece of white paper in a warded file, concealed at the bottom of Draco Malfoy's bedside table, Eighth Year students dormitory, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** _

Draco

I can’t share my manual with you. Our manuals and tools are only visible to ourselves and our team, and you will come to learn that it cannot be passed around, duplicated, or copied.

Regardless, concerning the nature of your manual, it is (seemingly) flimsy and whimsical due to your culture’s depiction of the God of Love. Since the Hellenistic period, Cupid has been portrayed as playful, mischievous, and flighty. As a result, the manual is accordingly depicted as careless and lazy, like the work of a young boy more occupied with his other interests. 

By contrast, the Chinese God of Love and Marriage, Yuexia Laoren, or Yuelao, is a wise old man from the Tang Dynasty. He is usually depicted with a book and a cloth bag for his red strings. Because the older generation is less receptive to change, our folding manual has stayed the same since the Tang Dynasty, made with thin yellow paper.

Enclosed is a book on the Gods of Love in different cultures worldwide. Even though we are disciples of the same master, our manuals and tools are contextualized according to our branches. You can guess the tools of the trade of our family across the cultures. I hope that it will be an interesting read for you. 

A conference is typically held every ten years and Handlers are randomly picked to attend. The next would be in 2003. However, the chances of being selected are slim, and it would be easier if you simply made a trip to visit us instead. 

Yours sincerely

Hei Yao

Note: 

  * Originating from Chinese mythology, East Asians believe that Yuexia Laoren, the God of Love and Marriage brings couples together through the red string of fate. In the original Chinese myth, the string is tied around both parties’ ankles.
  * Hei (黑) translates to Black. 



* * *

“Hey,” Harry greeted, pausing momentarily as he looked at the small space between Draco and Smith. It didn’t seem to matter to him though, dropping into the seat with a careless shrug while Draco scooted towards the armrest. Harry apologized to Smith with his usual sincerity for the squeeze. 

“How was the game?” Draco asked, the familiar minty scent of Harry’s shampoo tickling his nose as he kept the book away. He was nervous, his eyes unable to still as Harry sunk further into the sofa, the warm line of his body pressed against him. 

“It was good. Beats studying,” he said, his tone teasing. 

“Did you manage to win?” 

“It’s not about winning,” Harry said, paying no notice to how they were almost atop each other even after Smith had scampered off. Draco bit his lips at how casual Harry was with his Saviour of the Wizarding World status. Even their peers scrambled to give up seats for him. It was ridiculous. 

Their friendship had begun when the Gryffindors disappeared in favour of their romantic pursuits, leaving Harry with few friends especially with the rest of their cohort enamoured by his status. For some reason, Draco had been selected as choice company and after an honest confrontation about their youthful prejudice of each other, they had slowly shifted from opposite chairs and sparse conversations to casual physical contact and good-natured ribbing. It was exactly what he had fantasized when he was younger—to be in with Harry’s jokes, instead of being the butt of them. 

“Not about winning? I’ll remind you that next week,” Draco said, laughing when Harry flicked a cushion at him wandlessly. Wouldn’t the Wizarding world be impressed by how hypocritical their Saviour was? Just last week Harry had been complaining about losing the Seeker’s game to Ginevra, while this week he was positively gloating about his victory in typical Harry-esque fashion. 

“There's no need for that.” Harry grinned, pushing the cushion flat on Draco’s lap to lay his head on it. 

Draco tried to reign in the smile threatening to spread across his lips. He deeply enjoyed the nights spent together, when all of their friends were gone and he had all of Harry’s attention to himself. Whenever Harry sat with him in the quiet of their common room, it made him feel _good enough_ , like his mistakes mattered less, and he would always fall asleep afterward drunk from the need to continue being worthy of it. 

“You know, I wouldn’t face a single chance of losing next week if we trained together.” 

Draco only hummed in response, used to Harry’s unsubtle pleas. It had been months but of unsuccessful begging, but a Gryffindor’s stubbornness was incomprehensible. “I’m busy,” he replied, grateful when Harry didn’t push. 

While his future depended on his grades, there was only so much that it could help when the Malfoy name was so utterly ruined. The truth was that the broom had come to be synonymous with his failure in the Room of Requirements and the culmination of his loss of control. His mind healer had told him to view it as an escape, as a source of freedom, but Draco simply couldn’t relinquish the firm comfort of the ground. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t pair with Hermione for projects. It’d be easier to see who’s smarter if your results weren’t tied to one another’s.” 

“There’s still tests and quizzes,” Draco said, amused by Harry's conversation leap and flimsy logic. “Besides, I’m the smarter one. Hermione’s grades come from hard work.”

“So you’ll score better than her now?” Harry asked as he peered at him with faux innocence, his lips threatening to split with mirth. 

Draco nodded. “Of course. I’m a genius,” he said, trying his best to laugh at how shameless he was being. Hermione was more than smart, and the both of them knew it. 

Harry huffed in amusement as he closed his eyes. Draco took the opportunity to look at the shadow of Harry’s lashes against his cheeks, the slope of his nose, and the amused upturn of his lips. 

Amidst the comfortable silence that fell upon them, Draco twisted his fingers as he warred with the urge to poke Harry in the face. Harry looked too peaceful lying on his lap, and the urge to tease a frown was strong. If it were Blaise on his lap, Draco would already have pinched his nose, and they would have ended up in a tussle while Vincent, Greg, and Pansy looked on judgmentally. _He used to be so annoying, Merlin’s pants._

Desperate for something to occupy his hands, he slid down the golden arrow that he had hidden in his sleeves, a reminder of his quota. Despite the pressure and the anxiety that came with it, the magical energy in the tool had come to be a familiar comfort. He had taken to play with them whenever he was alone, musing that he would use it whenever it struck him, but he had never been able to.

“I’ll buy you lunch if you do as well, or better than Hermione in NEWTs,” Harry said suddenly without opening his eyes. 

“Just a lunch, Potter? You’re filthy rich. Try again.” 

“I’ll buy you a new broom, one that’s better than mine so that you’ll have a handicap when—” he yelped, grabbing Draco when he pretended to stand. He was laughing as he settled back down. “You wouldn’t be too busy for Quidditch after NEWTs, I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be too busy rejecting job offers at that time,” Draco said imperiously, clenching his fist around the arrow and looking away when he noticed the tightness of Harry’s smile. He hated being pitied, but it was better than contempt or derision—oh how far he had fallen indeed. Clenching his fists involuntarily, he froze when he felt the rubber tip come off in his hand. Carelessly trying to maneuver it back, he scratched his middle finger against its tip and his eyes immediately shot to meet Harry’s. His stomach tightened and his skin started to itch from the force of holding himself back. 

“How about I’ll cook you dinner too on the day you accept an offer that you like?” Harry said, not noticing Draco’s panic. Draco hadn’t been looking at anyone when the arrow had pricked him, which meant that the arrow would point him to an available person that was the most compatible with him in the vicinity, and nudge him towards them. 

“Didn’t know that I could cook, did you?” Harry said smugly, misreading Draco’s shock and fear as a surprise.

The manual had said that the arrows would help their targets find love and that they would typically act on their desires within minutes as Cupid helped them put their best foot forward, but in this case, there was no foot forward to be had. Harry was _Harry Potter_ for Merlin’s sake. Not trusting himself to speak lest he propositioned Harry, Draco nodded quickly, shivering involuntarily at the bright smile that Harry gave him.

“Do you prefer French cuisine?” Harry mused, his voice airy as if his mind was already somewhere else.

Draco couldn’t bring himself to say that the day could never come. It was hard for society to embrace him, and he was—despite his desire to atone for his mistakes by constructively contributing to society as a Healer, or an Auror—most likely to become Lord of the Manor like his father, grandfather, and great grandfather had been. 

No job offer would arrive, and couldn’t it be a homemade diner devoid of terms? It could be a date, and Harry would cook while Draco would bring a suitable bottle of wine or make some dessert…

Draco froze at the flash of fancy. His mind was no longer his, desperate to act on his basic instincts to claim Harry. 

Harry was empirically attractive, his hair thick and wavy, eyes bright and intelligent, his skin a healthy olive, his single dimple deep and generous, his chin as strong as his sense of justice. But even when Harry was content on his lap, he was never Draco’s to love. Harry belonged to the brave and the worthy, not the condemned, greedy, and timid. 

The war had taught him many things, of which that his inheritance was never infallible. He would not make the same mistake twice and ruin the friendship that he had come to treasure. Resolving to do the least to satisfy the compulsion of the arrow, processed the words on his tongue carefully before he spoke. “Anything’s good. You can cook your favourite dishes too.” 

Harry laughed as he made a joke about how it would become his reward, not Draco’s. Silent, Draco couldn’t tell if it was himself who thought that Harry’s friendship on its own was a reward or the Draco under the influence of the arrow. 

* * *

It was Draco’s quick wit that saved the library book from Harry’s thunderstorm. Draco tossed Harry a glare, rolling his eyes when the other cut off the spell with a wordless wave of his hand, a casual, unintentional show of his powers. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, reaching over to hold the book. “Your turn now. I’ll just—”

Draco grabbed his wrist. “No direct spellwork,” he said sharply, rolling his eyes at the look of embarrassment he received. “Umbrella.” He demonstrated with a flick of his wand as he dropped Harry’s hand belatedly, quickly attempting the similar thunderstorm spell to recover himself. The misery he felt from the rain soaking through his clothes helped clear his mind of his body’s treacherous response to physical contact with Harry. 

“Oi, Malfoy,” Harry complained when Draco continued to look dramatically into space, subjecting them to the elements. The rain cloud above them was only getting darker, the puddle in the corridor steadily expanding, and Harry looked like he was beginning to fear for his life, if not from a lightning strike, or a massive cold from being so wet in Scotland’s miserable winter. He shoved Draco, motioning for him to get along with the counterspell, lest he insisted on another round of thunderstorm to ensure that he had mastered the counterspell. Harry flicked his wet fringe out of his spectacles, glaring at Draco when he only brought the atmospheric charm to a drizzle instead of ceasing it entirely. “Show off,” he complained, casting an impervious charm for himself and following it with drying spells. 

“Potter, etiquette,” Draco exclaimed, gesturing to himself, scowling when the strong gust of wind from Harry made him shiver. Quickly drying himself, he conjured a weak tornado, mindful of the book as he sent the wind towards Harry. 

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!” Harry yelled, trying to look up the counterspell as he ran. 

“It’s faster this way, don’t you think? We’d be done with practice in no time,” Draco called over the volume, laughing at the fog that had begun to envelop him. Dismissing it, he hurriedly waved away the silenced tornado headed his direction.

They had been assigned atmospheric spells for Charms, and Draco was pleased that it had turned out to be significantly less boring than he had expected. Perhaps they could rennact to their duel in class next week? It would surely bag them a score higher than Ron and Hermione’s cooking spells. 

Most importantly, the distraction was desperately welcome, Draco thought as he sent a fierce wave of sleet towards Harry’s face, taking advantage of Harry’s poor memory to torture him. The urge to make Harry happy, and to touch him was getting worse, and it would have faded already, if not for their compatibility. More often than not, Draco found himself daydreaming about Harry when they were together, and distractions like being pelted by revenge hail the size of golf balls helped him to focus. He circled his wand desperately to dismiss the inclement weather, thankful when it finally worked. 

“Truce?” Harry offered a bright smile despite the melting snow on his body. 

“Mm, truce,” Draco said with a smirk, raising his wand at Harry as he closed the distance between them. Harry quickly shifted into a defensive stance as he grunted his name warningly. Draco cast a rainbow charm at him, laughing at Harry’s flabbergasted expression

“You’re full of cheap tricks, Malfoy,” he complained, drying them both with a sulk and an accusatory jab of his wand. “Where did you even learn that? Was it in the book?”

“It wasn’t. I learned it from Mother,” Draco said, checking the book that they had tossed a distance away when their duel had become serious.

“Why didn’t the book mention rainbows? Is our research complete?”

“It is. I don’t do incomplete work, Potter,” Draco said, immediately regretting how short he sounded when Harry’s frown deepened. What more did the arrow expect of him! He handed the book to Harry, taking the opportunity to brush their hands against each other's. “This isn’t the only book that I read. We’ll be prepared as long as you remember your spells.” 

“The duel was more helpful than the time spent reading,” Harry said distractedly, his hand moving as if practicing the spells.

“Maybe you could try them on our friends this weekend,” Draco suggested, subtly inviting Harry to the Hogsmeade trip, no matter that it was pretty much given that he would join them since Pansy had invited Hermione, who would invite Ron—he had to fulfill the _need_ of the arrow to ask Harry on a date. Harry grinned at him conspiratorially as the suggestion sunk in, and the thrill and pleasure that coursed through him almost made Draco stagger. The stretch of his skin eased by a fraction, and Draco was immensely grateful despite how slight it was. It was impossible to trick the magic on him when they both knew that it didn’t count as a date. 

He needed to do something quickly to end the thrall of the arrow without jeopardizing the friendship with Harry that he had come to value so much. 

* * *

_**Coded message on a piece of parchment in a Draco Malfoy’s school bag** _

Symptoms of influence:

  * Thinking about X all the time 
  * Daydreams about X
  * Unable to fall asleep easily 
  * Wanting X’s attention 
  * Thinking about the future with X
  * X is more interesting and funnier than usual
  * Staring at X all the time 
  * Wanting to touch X
  * Inappropriate thoughts 



* * *

Draco hiked his bag higher, his mood foul, his lips in a thin line. He nodded stiffly at Madam Pince on his way out of the library. His day had been absolutely rotten, and what he needed was a bit of coddling and heaps of sympathy. He wondered if Pansy would be around for once, or would he have to spend the night alone in the common room? He wanted to put off returning to his bed as long as possible, having spent the previous night obsessively scrutinizing every line in his manual and rereading the letters from his cousin in the hope that it would help. Even if he could resist the urge to do the same today, the blank report that appeared by his pillow was a glaring reminder that he hadn’t done anything about the situation yet. 

But it wasn’t like he could do anything, he was a _war criminal_ for Merlin’s sake, and his supposed compatibility partner was the bastion of goodness, the complete antithesis to his entire existence, and if they ever got together the media would be relentless, shredding him to pieces as they did to Mother, who was now a shut-in.

How far would he have to go? Would he have to shoot himself with a lead arrow to be free? He could no longer distinguish which thoughts were his own, craving for Harry’s attention and preening whenever he felt Harry’s eyes on him. 

His body had also betrayed him, bursting into shivers whenever Harry touched him. It was as if he could never escape his past, the _prestige_ of his bloodline weighing him down on each shoulder. He had been so deep in thoughts of self-pity and loathing that morning, flinching and curling into himself when Harry had touched him. Draco’s expression must have been frightful when he whirled around, Harry’s face immediately shuttering, leaving him alone, and now he had nobody to talk to.

“Chin up, youngin’. The night’s still young!” Titus the Timid called out from his painting, long lost his apprehensiveness from too many drinks. 

Checking that the corridor was clear, Draco pointed his middle finger at the man, pleased at the bluster that he received for his efforts. “Mind your own bloody business,” he added for good measure as he shook his fist warningly. _The man didn’t even know his problems. Did he have two personalities in one body? Did he have a cousin who didn’t reply even after three increasingly desperate letters?_

“You don’t even know why I’m upset,” Draco interrupted, tired of being called daft and dramatic. 

“Well, nothing’s worth being huffy about!” the man repeated, waving his glass carelessly when Draco heard a familiar giggle. 

He silenced the portrait in embarrassment, heedless of Titus the Timid's muffled shouts while he listened for footsteps. _Was this why Pansy was always too busy for him? Who was she sneaking around with?_

Draco tiptoed towards the infamous alcove, his heart beating at a dizzying pace at the glee and excitement of besting his friend. He was in luck to have taken the long route back to the common room, laughing to himself when he heard the couple’s groans. 

He would just peek around the tapestry before continuing on his merry way, just enough to tease Pansy about them. It would surely be someone embarrassing, or Pansy would have—he froze at his friend’s breathy moan of her lover’s name, his outstretched hand trembling when a voice responded. It was worse than anyone his mind could ever imagine. 

How could Pansy? Did she not know how precarious their positions were? His eyes were hot as he stood there, frozen in shock and fear as his ears rang with the wanton sounds of the couple’s shameless makeout session. 

Draco’s head shot up when he heard quick footsteps towards their direction. He stumbled forward. He had to divert them, bring them away from Pansy until he could speak to her privately. He would talk her down from her foolishness, he would help her to see the error of her ways, he would—“Hermione,” he greeted breathlessly, catching her immediately when they collided, his reflexes fast from the adrenaline, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat when his mind processed the gravity of meeting his friend. 

“Are you on your rounds? I’m still within curfew, I was just looking up books for our project, and I finally found something that would help with the problem,” he babbled, guiding her in the direction of their dorm as he held her by the elbow. 

“Are you alright?” she interrupted, tugging him to a stop as she looked at him carefully. 

“Of course! I’ve been thinking about the problem for so long, and I’ve finally solved it, and I was going to look for you. Let me tell you about it before I forget,” he said desperately, tugging her along again; the further they were from the alcove the better. 

_He would not let Hermione catch Pansy kissing Ronald Weasley._

* * *

Draco had stopped agonizing about the differences between influenced Draco and normal Draco, instead allowing himself to freely misconstrue Harry’s attention for affection, and casual touches for the sentiment. He had made an escalating list of targets for himself, beginning with the brushing of hands and culminating with a kiss that he hoped to clear by today. 

It was beginning to seem impossible as he tried to look at the students to spot Pansy. He had tried to counsel her the day before, but between Pansy's stubbornness and Harry speaking to him again, it hadn’t been successful, and she had disappeared since the morning. 

“Draco!” Harry called out, running to hide behind him in laughter, leading Ginevra’s snowstorm to both of them. Draco waved the spell off in fond amusement, threatening her with a rain cloud and smirking when she gestured rudely at him. 

“You better hide, Potter!” 

Draco pet the arm around him, his heart tender. Harry perked up when Ginevra finally returned her attention to Luna. Taking the opportunity, he reached over to dust the snow off Harry’s messy hair, the disappointment at the continued influence of the arrow immediately dissipating when he took in Harry’s bright eyes and wide smile, cheeks flushed from the cold. The sight of Harry's happiness still made his heart lift. 

“You need more practice or I’ll wipe the floor off you on Tuesday.” 

Harry hummed in amusement. “It’s a ploy to lower your guard.” 

Draco checked him in the shoulder, the distance between them closing again as they stumbled against one another in laughter. A comfortable silence fell over them as they trudged along the path towards Hogsmeade, and Draco basked in the occasional brushes of their hands, glad that Harry had spoken to him immediately yesterday without mentioning anything about his odd behaviour. 

“So have you gotten all of your Christmas presents?” he asked.

Draco looked at him incredulously. “Potter, it’s in less than two weeks,” he said, brows creasing further when Harry only shrugged in response, burrowing into his Gryffindor scarf. “You’re not going to get sweets for everyone, are you?”

“It’s a good idea,” he defended with a laugh. “It’s hard to buy presents for so many people. I have the Weasleys—” he mimed losing count on his fingers in amusement, “Hermione and Ron, you...” 

Draco gasped. “You’re getting something for me?” he said with exaggerated gratitude. 

“Piss off,” Harry said, continuing to count. “Ginny and Luna, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Pansy, Hannah because she’s a great help during Transfigurations, and a few other eighth years,” he wrung his hands helplessly. “I’ve never had to buy so many presents before.” 

“That’s a nice problem to have,” he said, and it was, regardless of the anxiety and the planning that had begun in November as he watched his peers catalog their hobbies and personalities. 

He had always been a thoughtful gifter, and he wanted to do something more this year. 

Taking advantage of Harry’s lost expression, Draco quickly grabbed his hand and dragged him towards Honeydukes. He wouldn’t think about Pansy’s situation until the eighth year met at Three Broomsticks. He needed to cover as many grounds of his list today. 

* * *

_**Piece of parchment in Draco Malfoy’s coat** _

To do with XX today (if possible):

  1. Brushing of hands
  2. Brushing against the small of the back 
  3. Brushing of hair
  4. Hand holding 
  5. Wiping of the face (?) 
  6. Cheek kiss
  7. Kiss 



* * *

Draco glared at Pansy from across the table, desperately trying to catch Pansy’s eyes while she leaned into Hermione’s space, heedless of Draco's warning to avoid both of them entirely. How could she be so shameless? Pansy had always been uninhibited in her whims, but did she not understand the gravity of the situation? He pushed his mulled mead aside as he made to stand, pausing when Harry’s arm suddenly looped around his.

“So Seamus was also impressed by Zonko’s Christmas party kit,” Harry said.

“I have their advent calendar,” he said proudly. 

Draco drew back in confusion. “Shouldn’t Gryffindors have some sort of loyalty towards Weasley’s Wheezes?” 

“It’s about accessibility,” Dean said tiredly, his resignation evident that it was a tired argument. 

“Ron, do you hear how your fellow Gryffindors are purchasing Zonko’s merchandise?” Draco asked Ron in a fit of ingenuity to draw his attention away from Pansy and how she was flaunting their secret relationship in front of his girlfriend. 

"Bunch of traitors," Ron replied, downing his firewhiskey with a careful swallow. "George wanted to acquire the shop beside Scrivenshaft's in time for Christmas, but the seller was being difficult." 

"Harry, you didn't get anything from them, did you?" Hermione asked with mild disapproval while Pansy curved against her, running her fingers through her hair as she pressed her tongue against her front teeth. 

If Draco could hurt people with the force of his glare, she would have been flattened on the creaky wooden floor of Three Broomsticks. Clicking her tongue, Pansy's eyes slid slowly over to Draco, brows rising in question when she noticed his expression.

Draco felt his anger rise, his fist clenching as he got onto his feet, jostling Harry who was leaning against him. Harry turned to look at him in concern. 

"Harry wouldn't," Ginny said. 

"He did, and it's definitely for some noble cause or whatever," Pansy interrupted the arguments. 

"There's nothing noble about supporting a competitor. They also copied the neon line remember?" Ginny said hotly. 

Luna hummed in consideration, her fingers entwined between Ginny's. "It's a good present, Harry." 

Ron looked between Luna and Pansy before making a noise of realization. "Don't make a habit out of it," he warned Harry, who only shrugged. Harry had been taken by the party kit and had immediately mailed his purchase to George for consideration. Draco had only refused to agree with its creativity due to the childish jokes in it. Any party would be ruined if guests could only squeak or hiccup randomly. 

The conversation had dissolved to smaller ones again when Harry elbowed him in the rib. "What did Pansy do?"

Draco froze at his perceptiveness. "What do you mean?" 

"You've been glaring. What did she do?" 

"I haven't," he insisted, shaking his head at Harry's transparent amusement. "I just never noticed that she was so close to Hermione." 

Harry shrugged as he sipped his butterbeer. "It started with questions about Muggle Studies, I think. Hermione likes her wit." 

"I'm witty too," Draco said reflexively. Yet Hermione wasn't as friendly toward him, was she? 

It earned him a fond hum in agreement. 

"Does Ron know how close they are?" Draco continued, his heart skipping a beat when Ron joined Pansy and Hermione's conversation. Weasley was sick and perverted, to be able to do this without an ounce of guilt. 

"Of course. Ron doesn't hang out with just anyone, you know?" 

And indeed he didn't. He only hung out with people he fucked, Draco thought crudely, lining the lead arrow in his fingers and flicking it towards Pansy. Blinking when it connected, Pansy's smile became strained as she leaned away from Ron's attention, and startling when Hermione's hand touched her arm. 

"Gotta go," Draco said, pulling away from Harry. Quickly pressing a kiss to Harry's cheek before he could overthink it, Draco rounded the table to address Pansy. "Let's go," he said. He nodded at Hermione and Ron, disregarding their confusion at the sudden interruption, completely unaware that he was saving their relationship. 

Pansy hummed in agreement as she slipped her arm into his waiting one. They waved goodbye to their friends, and Draco looked heavily at Harry, hoping that he would understand. 

"Are you okay?" He asked afterward, the silence between them comfortable in their trek back to Hogwarts. 

"Just a little tired," Pansy replied. Draco was grateful that she didn't pull away. 

He decided to test the efficacy of the arrow. "Did you spend your Hogsmeade outing with the both of them? Are you going to do it again?" 

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him, huffing in amusement, the corner of her mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "Don't worry, I'll leave them alone from now on. I don't know what came over me, honestly," she said, shuddering as she drew her cloak closer around herself. 

"Granger's horribly indecisive, did you know? It took her close to an hour to choose one present, and Weasley's a complete pushover, standing around even while complaining. Bloody Gryffindors, honestly. They're both so enthusiastic that it's almost pitiful."

She fell silent and they continued walking. "Enough about them. What about you? I saw how Potter was practically fawning over you just now. Do you have anything that you would like to share?" 

Draco rolled his eyes in fond annoyance, his heart warm from the return of their familiar camaraderie. "He wasn't _fawning_. We're just a bit left out with everyone coupling up. And he's quite tactile, so it seems like something more. But we're only just friends." 

"So you'll kiss me on the cheek?" 

Draco leaned away. "What are you doing?" he demanded in shock, yelping when Pansy smacked her lips noisily against his cheek. 

"Just kissing my friend softly, as friends do." 

"Why did you do that!" he complained, swiping at his cheek and howling when the red of Pansy's lipstick showed on his grey glove. 

"These are new!" He pulled it off and tried to charm the stain off. Pansy crossed her arm, watching him flail about with a distinct air of unconcern. 

"Thought your housekeeping spells would have improved." 

"Shut up," he said, dabbing furiously at the slightly faded stain.

Pansy continued without any concern, "You know, with Pepper being gone and all." 

"Shut up!" Draco snapped, heedless of the attention that they were receiving. 

"I'm just saying," Pansy shrugged, "that you should let yourself feel for once, and stop doing this whole _‘Malfoy is perfect and impenetrable’_ act." She kept pace with Draco's long strides easily. 

"You keep going on about how we should know our place and all that bunch of crap, but what is that place exactly? _Groveling under people's feet forever?_ So what if me making out with Ron didn't work? At least I tried it out, didn't I? Unlike yourself," she laughed. 

"Because a kiss on the cheek between friends is so normal. You want Potter so much that you can't control yourself, but in the next moment you're occupied with being a martyr, and you push him away because Saint Potter can't be with a Malfoy, and because Draco doesn't deserve anything. Let me tell you this just because we're friends, Draco. One day you'll look around, and you'll realize that you're bitter and alone, and begging at the feet of everyone." She sneered at him, her expression hard. 

"The more you try to be perfect to be accepted by those people, the more you'll be torn apart because they wouldn't accept you even if you bent over to beg. And if Potter does, then you should bloody get on it." 

"It's not that easy!" he snapped, his eyes warm from frustration. 

"How is it not?" Pansy laughed tonelessly, her lips twisted in a cruel smile. "You just need to do whatever the fuck you want." 

"It's not—" Draco began, his throat tight. "I can't do that anymore." 

Pansy laughed hollowly, shaking her head in pity, her smile thin. "Don't come crawling for me when it's too late," Pansy said before swirling her Slytherin green cloak around her as she left. 

* * *

"Bloody let me go," Pansy yelled, twisting out of Ron's grip and drawing her wand on him. 

"If this is one of your games, this isn't the time," he said while Hermione tried to hold him back. She quickly cast a Muffliato around them as she dispersed the crowd around them. 

"Pans, we're just a little confused, and we'd like to talk. Can we go somewhere more private?" Hermione said as she pulled her boyfriend away from Pansy. 

"Release her!" Draco yelled at the sight of Ron grabbing his friend the moment Harry managed to penetrate the ward. He had rushed out of the Great Hall when he heard about the confrontation from the gossiping students. 

Ron made a frustrated noise as he let Pansy go. "We're just having a bit of a chat. Can't we have a bit of privacy?" 

"No, you can't. Look, Hermione, Pansy didn't mean to come between you and Ron, and she regrets her behaviour. And you," he looked at Ron accusingly, "you shouldn't even have made out with her in the first place. I apologize on Pansy's behalf, and if you'll excuse me," he said curtly, quickly pulling Pansy away from the scene.

"Wait," Hermione called out. "I think that we're not talking about the same things. We're asking Pansy why she's avoiding us, not asking her to stay away from us." 

"Draco, they're together," Harry said, his smile fond when Draco's mouth fell open in shock. 

"What! When—" 

"No, as I said, we're no longer together. I've decided that you guys are too Gryffindor for me. Goodbye," Pansy said flippantly as she walked off. 

Three hands reached out to grab her. 

_"Pansy, let's talk about this," Hermione said at the same time while Draco begged, "Pansy, wait." He was overcome with the dawning horror that his wayward arrow had created the entire mess. Had they been together the whole time? So when he had come across Hermione on patrol, had she been looking for them? Ugh, had they been flirting in front of him during his study sessions with Hermione? Had he been blind all this while?_

Bloody hell, he swore as he quickly sent a golden arrow at Pansy. He had underestimated his friend entirely. To be able to bed two-thirds of the Golden Trio? No wonder she had been preaching for him to do whatever he wanted. 

"Pans, we can talk this through," Ron said when Pansy looked at him, his shoulders loosening as a friendly smile spread across Pansy's lips. 

"You guys really are Gryffindors, aren't you? Incessant and so terribly earnest," Pansy smiled wolfishly as she licked her lips. "Let's go somewhere private," she said, her tone dripping with seduction as she pulled Hermione and Ron along.

Harry quickly released the spells on the both of them. There were simply some things that they didn't need to hear or see. 

Draco blinked in shock at the swift turn of matters. Everything had happened so quickly, and it was barely half-past twelve—how was it appropriate to be doing whatever they were doing at this time? 

Draco was still reeling when they walked into Luna. 

"So it's settled?" she asked, peering at the corridor behind them. 

Harry nodded as they walked back to the Great Hall. "There was a misunderstanding," he said, smirking at Draco over Luna's head. Draco flushed at how obtuse he had been. _Just how much had he missed?_

"That's good. You did well, Draco," Luna said, squeezing his arm right at the harness that had held the arrow he used on Pansy. "I thought that I would have to interfere again after you dissuaded Pansy yesterday." 

"Again? I—" Draco repeatedly, staring at his cousin in shock while she only looked on with a patient smile. "You were the one who—" he broke off, conscious of Harry's presence. 

_Wasn't Luna related to him via the Malfoys? But wasn't it the Blacks? But then again, the bloodlines of the English purebloods were so convoluted. Surely he should have known?_

Luna hummed in agreement. "They're quite compatible, aren't they?"

Draco didn't know how to respond without embarrassing himself. He had been so caught up with his concepts of propriety and worried about his image, and these concerns had spilled over while he tried to fulfill his quota. He had wanted to do it right, to bind people who were "compatible" in the eyes of society, but didn't the old adage go that love was blind? 

It simply did whatever the fuck it wanted (in Pansy's words), and the rest would be settled with the magic of love. The arrows delivered the courage to push people onto the path of happiness and the rest depended on the individual themselves to follow the call of their heart. _For how long had he tried to pretend that it was the arrow's influence when it had been him desiring Harry's attention and craving for Harry's affections?_

"They are, indeed," he replied, his heart clenching at the pride on Luna's face. 

"I'll be going. Ginny's calling for me," she said, her voice bright. Draco swallowed at the look he received before she skipped away. 

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, reaching over to squeeze Draco's hand. Draco felt his heart stutter at the depth of concern in Harry's eyes. He had been pushing Harry away for so long but he had still stayed. Draco would never be able to give him everything that he deserved, but he would try, and maybe that would be enough. The papers would descend on them, and his classmates would gossip, but having Harry made him happy, and he would be brave. He would fight for the things he cared about. 

Closing his eyes, Draco leaned in to press his lips against Harry's.

* * *

_**Painting in the East Wing of the Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire** _

François Gérard (b. 1770)

 _Psyche and Cupid, also known as Psyche Receiving Cupid's First Kiss_ , 1798 

Oil on canvas 

**Author's Note:**

> Do point out any mistakes, I'd be eternally grateful!
> 
> My headcanon is that steady state, the Handlers' target quota would be 4-5 a month, peaking at 12-15 in February/August (depending on culture for Western and Chinese Valentine's day), and 7-8 in December (for commercialised Christmas). If you're really good, or really bad, you're more likely to be invited to the conference for an award/remedial lessons respectively.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below!


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